St. Landry democrat., 1887-05-07
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
Oliver Wendell Holmes Impressions OF
Ensland's Most Notable Structure.

| think no part Of the Abbey sylslted
with so much interest us Poets Corner.
We are all familiarly acquainted with
it beforehand. We are all ready for 80
rare Ben Johnsoni' as we stand over
the place where he was planted stand
ing upright, as if he had been dropped
into Il post-hole. We remember too
well the foolish and tiippant mockcry
OF Gay Life is Jest" If | were a
dean of the cathedral, / should be
tempted to alter the j to a &. Then we
could read it without contempt; for
life IS q gcst, an achicvcment--or al
ways ought to be- Westminster Abbey
is too crowded with monuments to the
illustriOuS dead and those who have
been considered so in their day to pro-
ducc any other than Il confused inn
preston. When we visit the tomb Of
Napoleon at the InvalidcS, no side
lights interfere with the view before ua
in the field of mental vision. We see
the Emperor; Marcngo, Austerlitz,
Waterloo, Saint Helena, come before us
with him as their central figure. So AT
Stratford-rh" Cloptons and the John a
CombeS, with all their memorials, can
not make Us lift our eyes from the stone
which covers the dust that once
brcathed and walked the streets OF
Stratford as Shakespeare.
ALI, but hose is one marble cOnntc-
nance that know full well, and knew
for many q year in the flesh! Is there
an American who sees the bust Of Long
fellow among the e11igieS of the great
authors of England without feeling a
thrill of pleasure at recognizing the
features of his native fellowcountry-
man in the Nahalla of ancestral fellow
coumtlymen? There are many memo
rials in Poets Corner and elsewhere in
the Abbey which could be better spared
than that. Too many that were placed
there as lrminaries have become con-
spicious by their obscurity in the midst
of that illustrious company. On the
whole, the Abbey produces a distinct
sense of being overcrOwded. 1t APP
pears too much like a lapidary's store
room. Look up at the lofty roof, which
we willingly pardon for shutting out
the heaven above us-at least in an
average London day: look down at the
floor, and think of what precious relies
it covers; but do not look around You
with the hope of getting any clear, con-
centratcd, satisfying effect from this
great museum of gigantic funcreal brio
abrac. Pardon me, shades of the mighty
dead! | had something of this feeling, but
at another hour might perhaps be over
come by emotion, and weep, as my fell
low-countrvman did at the grave of the
earliest of his ancestors. Ishould love
myself better in that respect than [ do
in this cold-blooded criticism; but it
suggested itself, and as no flattery can
soothe, so no censure can wound, ''the
dull, cold ear Of death.
OF course we saw all the sights of the
Abbey in a hurried way, yet with such
a guide and eXpositor as ArchdeacOn
Farrar our two hours visit was worth d
whole day with an undiSoriminating
yerger, who recites his lesson by rote,
and takes the life out of the little mob
that follows him round by emphasizing
the details of his lesson until Patience
on a monument seems to be the suf-
ferer, who knows what he wants and
what he does not want, the nearest en-
blem of himself he can think of.
Amidst all the imposing recollections
of the ancient editice, one impressed
me in the inverse ratio of its import
ance. The Archdeacon pointed out
the little holes in the stones, in one
place, where the boys of the choir used
to play marbles before America was
discovered, probably-centuries be-
fore. it may be. 1t is a strangely inn
pressive glimpse of a living past, like
the grafiti of Pompeii. find it is often
the accident rather than the essential
which fixes my attention and takes
hold of my memory. This is a tend
ency of which [ suppose | ought to be
ashamed if we have any right to be
ashamed of those idiosyncrasies which
are ordered for us. 1t is the same tend
ency which often leads us to prefer the
picturesque to the beautiful Mr.. Gill
pin liked the donkey in forest land
scape better than the horse. A touch
of imperfection interferes with the
beauty of an object and lowers its level
to that of the picturesque. The acct
dent of the holes in the stone of the no.
BILE building, for the boys to play mar
bles with, makes me a boy again and
at home with them, after looking with
awe upon the statue of Newton, and
turning with a shudder from the CHASTITY
monument of Mrs. Nightingale.-Olirer
Wendell Holmes, IN atlantic.